


The storm's gift

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Sex, Sleepy Cuddles, Thunder and Lightning, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 03:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6267505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things get heated when Thranduil comforts his wife during a thunderstorm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The storm's gift

The crackling, branching fingers of lightning reached through the window to pry open your sleep-heavy eyelids. Outside was a whirl of wind and darkness and the feathery tops of the trees whipping helplessly in the faint moonlight as rain beat down upon them, and your listening ears waited for the deep growl of thunder that grew and rolled and threatened to swallow the Greenwood like some vast, ravenous creature.

Another flash of lightning lit the bedroom in brief, stark whiteness, and you cringed away from its intrusion toward the warmth of your husband’s body. Thranduil stirred, turning toward you to drape his arm around your waist with a languid movement, but the thunder’s crash roused him fully from his slumber. He lifted his head to look through the window at the chaotic scene outdoors, and with a wordless sympathy gathered you close to him, pressing your back to his chest.

“There is no need to fear, _meleth_.” His voice was gravelly with sleep, but calm, understanding. “A storm is just a storm.”

“I know,” you answered sheepishly. “But it frightens me nonetheless.”

“Shhhh…” He gently coaxed you to turn to face him, tucking your head beneath his chin and enfolding you in a comforting embrace while his slender fingers weaved themselves into your hair, raking through the tousled locks with soothing, rhythmic strokes. “You are safe, _meleth nín,_ ” he whispered, brushing your forehead with his lips. “Always safe in my arms…no harm can reach you here.”

Your arm crept to his back to press your palm to his smooth skin, and your tense body slowly relaxed into the refuge of his presence. You sighed against his throat and inhaled the warm scent of his skin, the breath of sandalwood that hung about him, and he murmured sweet, foolish, distracting words of love into your ear while the storm raged on outside.

As you took solace in Thranduil’s fond whispers, your hand on his back wandered to explore the sculpted muscles of his shoulders, trail slowly over the long, narrow valley of his spine to the firm curve of his backside and upward again, and when his pulse quickened against your cheek with your caresses, when the slow drag of your lips over his collarbone elicited a heavy exhale that stirred your hair, the lightning’s fire seeped into your veins, igniting an irresistible need for him.

Your lips found his blindly, and his hand slid under your hair to clasp the back of your neck, deepening the kisses, flavoring them with urgency. With a fluid, graceful motion, he turned you to your back, settling his thighs between yours, the welcome weight of his body pressing you into the mattress while you cradled his flawless face in your hands, chasing kiss after desperate kiss. 

“Thranduil.” Your voice was a whimper against his lips, and he broke from you, burying his face in your shoulder while he took deep, steadying breaths, his airy chuckle lost in your hair. When he raised his head to look into your eyes, his hungry expression had softened, and his fingers lightly stroked your cheek.

“You are so beautiful, _meleth,_ ” he purred, tracing your kiss-swollen lips with his fingertip. “But I do not want to rush. Not even one moment.”

He returned to your lips, more carefully this time, almost teasingly, and his hair fell like silk across your skin as he blazed a slow trail of kisses downward over your body, lovingly traversing its curves and clefts until, with a predatory smirk, he disappeared from your view beneath the brocade bedcoverings. You giggled softly, biting your lip with anticipation, your breath hitching in your throat as his mouth caressed the soft skin of your belly, the groove of your hip, and then…a gasp. A whispered plea.

Thranduil threw off the covers and his hands curled around your thighs, reaching to lace his fingers with yours as he worked delicately, expertly, relentlessly, until the sounds and sights of the storm were eclipsed by your ragged voice and the dazzle of stars that burst behind your eyelids. He moved quickly to reascend your trembling body with your clutching hands urging him to the oneness you both craved, and you lavished breathless kisses on the hollow at the base of his throat, the corded column of his neck, the underside of his tensed jaw while his arms slipped beneath your back to hold you closer yet.

Together, you found an ever more feverish rhythm, and now the storm was in the room, around you, between you, within you, and he groaned your name and the lightning broke, coursing through your bodies in a dizzying rush of maddening, incendiary bliss…then all was still but for the thunder of your beating hearts against each other.

After an interlude of slow kisses, hushed voices, reluctance to break the sacred bond your pleasure had forged, he moved to your side, drawing you once again into his arms, smiling mischievously as he looked out at the rain and wind, now forgotten and banished from the chamber of love. “Shall you be able to sleep now, my starlight?” 

You grinned and lazily kissed him, brushing his mussed hair away from his face with your hand. “Oh, I believe I shall.”

The storm gradually abated, leaving only the steady drip of raindrops trickling ~~~~from the leaves behind it, and as silence fell, breathing evened, and pulses slowed, greedy sleep claimed you both once more where you lay entangled.

* * *

One year later, the bedroom window was aglow with pale morning sunshine and the last of the healers bowed from the room while you looked with wonder and adoration at the newborn elfling in your arms. The baby’s downy hair was as fine as cornsilk, as blond as his father’s, and his sky-blue eyes regarded you with sleepy curiosity.

The door opened, and you looked up to meet Thranduil’s gaze, lit with pure joy upon seeing you with the child. Happy tears glazed your vision, and you beamed at him with the invitation you’d been waiting for the healers’ blessing to extend.

“ _Meleth nín_ …come and meet our son.”

He approached the bed with reverence written on his features and sat carefully beside you, reaching gently to stroke the baby’s tiny hand. “He is beautiful,” he said, in an awestruck tone.

“He is,” you agreed, looking fondly upon your husband as he leaned to press a grateful kiss to your lips.

“He could not be otherwise, with you as his mother,” Thranduil smiled, and you kissed him again, but shook your head as you studied the small face.

“I do believe he favors you.” 

“He is the best of both of us,” he said solemnly, and you nodded, knowing that he spoke of more than your son’s appearance.

You smiled to see the look of amazement in Thranduil’s eyes as the baby’s fingers curled determinedly around one of his own. “Would you like to hold him?”

Thranduil moved to sit back against the headboard of the bed, tentatively holding out his arms, and you placed the swaddled baby securely in the crook of Thranduil’s elbow, where he stretched and mewled before settling contentedly into his father’s embrace. An irrepressible grin tugged at Thranduil’s lips, and he traced a chubby cheek with his finger, murmuring, “hello, _ionneg_.”

With a full heart, you leaned on Thranduil’s shoulder, resting your head against his to stare and marvel together at the child your love had created, who began to blink slowly as he succumbed to sleep. “He must have a name,” you reminded your husband.

“Indeed,” he said. “How if we were to call him Legolas?”

“’Green leaf,’” you mused. You smiled and returned your gaze to your son, taking his small hand between your fingers with a loving caress. “I think it suits him…Legolas.”

“Legolas,” Thranduil repeated with satisfaction, adding, “it is fitting, after all.”

“How so?”

Thranduil nuzzled your nose with his and smiled, a note of playfulness creeping into his voice. “Well…green leaves do come of rainstorms.”


End file.
